


CapsiCakes

by Amuly



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The anonymous prompt on my <a href="http://everybodyilovedies.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> was "Clint/Coulson, cooking together", and that's pretty much all this is. Domestic fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	CapsiCakes

Clint nudged at Phil’s hip with his own, leaning his chin over Phil’s shoulder to glance at the pan. “You going to drain that anytime soon?”

Phil tutted, shoving back at Clint with his hip - and ow, okay, fucking ninja secret strength, Clint was not awake enough to deal with that yet. “I’ll drain it when it's ready.”

The smell of bacon was already making Clint’s stomach growl, but he resolutely pointed himself away from the pan Phil was prodding at with tongs. He had yet to put a shirt on this morning, and frying bacon plus no shirt equaled screw that, he gets enough burns in his line of work, thanks but no thanks. Besides, his pancake batter looked less like batter at the moment and more like… well. Ingredients.

“Leave some in the pan,” Clint called over his shoulder as he got to work. Phil snorted something that sounded like he was disappointed that Clint thought he even needed to ask. Well. He snorted. But it was totally distinctive, and hey, Clint had been working with Phil long enough to be able to read whole paragraphs into a twitch of his lips or a seemingly noncommittal hum. 

Measuring out the ingredients for the pancakes was easy enough, mostly because Clint had a tendency not to so much measure as eyeball the ingredient amounts. He’d figured out somewhere between shitty assassin jobs in his youth that he cooked better when he stopped trying so hard to measure everything just right and just… let instinct take over. Or something. Phil was appalled by his method, but he never complained about anything of Clint’s that he put into his mouth.

Clint snorted.

He received a smack to his ass for that. He yelped, grinning even as he jumped and turned around. The reaction was at least fifty percent for show. At least. Maybe exactly. Phil could hit _hard_.

“What was-“

“Dirty thoughts.” Phil answered before he could even finish asking.

For all of half a second Clint considered protesting the levels of filthy his thoughts were. He decided against it. Phil knew him all too well. Plus, even if he wasn’t thinking dirty thoughts, pretty much no one would believe him. Especially if those thoughts had anything to do with Phil. 

“Done,” Phil informed him a few minutes later, over the sound of the mixer. Clint let it go for a couple more seconds, peering down into the light, gooey batter. As Phil moved away from the stove Clint unlocked the arm of the mixer and unhitched the bowl from its resting place. They shifted around each other easily, years of living together and even more years working together making both men well in tune with each other’s movements. Phil had a plate heaping with bacon that he set down on the kitchen table before he moved to the fridge, pulling out some fruit. As Clint drained the pan of bacon grease into a bowl on the side (Phil already had the bowl out for him. It was stupid shit like that that reminded Clint he kind of totally loved the guy), he watched Phil pull out a cutting board and his favorite chopping knife out of his periphery. 

As surreptitiously as he could, Clint moved his hand to the drawer next to the stove, slipping three metal cookie cutters from where they were hidden in the very back. He knew Phil registered the movements, but he also knew that Phil knew that if he was being sneaky then he wanted Phil to not know.

Or something.

Maybe Tony was right: they were  _so_ an old married couple.

(Wasn’t like Tony and Steve were any better, as of late. 'Least Clint and Phil didn’t act like they thought they were fooling anybody. Meanwhile Cap and Tony were sneaking around like teenagers for the better part of six months and thought they had an organization of vigilante detectives and super spies fooled. Yeah. Right.)

“I’ll set the table,” Phil commented lightly. Clint didn’t look up from where he was very, very carefully pouring the batter into the different cookie cutter molds. 

Five minutes later and Clint was proudly setting his latest creation down in front of Phil. He stared at his plate for a long moment before looking up at Clint, expression blank. Or, it would be blank, to anyone but Clint. And maybe Fury. And Tasha. Just there, in his eyes and quirk of the lips and tiny wrinkling crows’ feet was the equivalent of a full-belly laugh.

“It’s the anniversary,” Clint pointed out, though he knew he didn’t need to say it.

Phil looked down at his plate, then up at Clint again. “It is,” he replied.

And Clint, because he wasn’t as cool and collected and dry as Phil was, started laughing. Phil, because he wasn’t as cool and collected and dry as he pretend to be, erupted into laughter with him. Warm, strong hands tugged at Clint’s thighs until he bent down and kissed the laughter right off Phil’s lips.

They settled in to eat their breakfast in happy companionship. By the end, all the little Captain America's Shield pancakes that Clint had made - compromised of two concentric circles and one star at the center - were eaten down to the last crumb. Then they were shutting themselves in their bedroom for some 'Happy UnFreezing Day' sex. Clint might feel weird about it, but he knew Steve was sure to be getting some action of his own today, so, hey: any excuse to spread the love was good enough for Clint.


End file.
